


The Fountain

by wholetthedogdrive



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: But mostly just crack, Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholetthedogdrive/pseuds/wholetthedogdrive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Re-posted here; was originally posted at the kinkmeme, I think, under a previous handle.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Fountain

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posted here; was originally posted at the kinkmeme, I think, under a previous handle.

When Merlin saw the fountain in the central courtyard, he knew, without a doubt, that he was fucked.

Utterly, utterly fucked.

It was a nice fountain, if you liked that sort of thing. One tall, wide jet of water in the middle, two smaller, more…rounded…Oh God.

Round. Sort of low. Kind of like…lumps of water.

And, okay, the basin was attractive, in a festooned-with-fancy-narrow-scrollwork kind of way. Just the scrollwork. No accompanying leaves, or flowers, or, well, anything. Just a lot of narrow, curly….ohgodohgod.

It was really all Arthur’s fault. 

~ ~ ~

The whole thing had started fairly early, to be honest. All of Arthur’s “Merlin! Take off my armor!” “Merlin! Help me unbuckle these greaves!” “Merlin! I can’t get these shirt laces undone!” had led to Merlin’s complete inability to look away from Arthur’s chest. And his arms. And his stomach. And when Arthur started in on the “Merlin! I need help with my boots!” gesturing Merlin over to where he sat, shirtless, on the bed, Merlin thought that it would be easier to simply hyperventilate until he died, because his other alternative was to walk around permanently hard with Gaius looking at him funny. So he’d started reciting spells under his breath every time he had to get near Arthur, half-naked or not.

Arthur, predictably, hadn’t noticed. Well, other than to occasionally comment that Merlin seemed to be even less focused than normal, which for him was saying something.

The diversion had worked. For a while. And then Arthur had started to, inexplicably, request Merlin’s help more often. Turning down his sheets. Fetching warmed bricks for the blankets. Building up the fire. Bringing more warm water for the bath. Also inexplicably, Arthur seemed to be shirtless for many more of these requests.

Merlin, barely holding back a whimper, turned away from Arthur with one hand pressed to the base of his cock, always responded with a simple, “Yes, Arthur” and beat it the hell out of there. Sometimes, depending on the request, he had enough time, hiding behind a tapestry (thank God they were long) or a suit of armor, or once, memorably, simply behind a convenient pillar (see? See! Fucked!) to roughly strip his cock, one forearm braced on the wall, biting on the back of his fist, before he hurried back to Arthur’s chambers with the bricks, or the water, or the food. He’d even mistakenly magicked the bricks once, in an attempt to get a smear of…well, wasn’t it obvious? off of one of them, and only noticed that they were sparkling (sparkling!) as he was sliding them under the sheets, barely enough time to mutter at them under his breath before Arthur saw.

After that, he was even more careful. Not that it helped.

~ ~ ~

Merlin took to reviewing all of Gaius’s books, not simply the spellbooks, for mutterable phrases. He memorized long lists of ingredients. He studied anatomical diagrams to help with wound healing. He even, in desperation, found an old recipe book in order to learn how to make bread. After the fountain, though (and wasn’t that a sight? Uther, clearly knowing it was magical, glowered and glared, and stomped, and drank more than usual, even, but other than being a source of bemusement to the maids, and a source of sniggers to the knights, it mostly just…sat there. Spewing, as it were. Merlin left the castle through the stables.), Merlin knew that his so-fabulous plan wasn’t working.

The fountain, after Merlin walked in on Arthur, shirtless, pulling on his wrist braces with his teeth, acquired a flower border. Low round flowers, in groups of two, with large, spiky, fat flowers in between. That seemed to get fatter when the fountain splashed on them. Subtle, Merlin thought, really fucking subtle.

The muttering lost its effect. Merlin’s magic seemed to simply love Arthur, reaching out to him, forcing Merlin to choke it back with yeast measurements, bone names, properties of herbs. It felt like a blanket of fire under his skin, sparking and dancing whenever he was in the room with Arthur. Merlin now only looked at the floor, terrified that his eyes were golden all the time, unable to stop it. Going down to bring bread to Arthur, Merlin found the cooks exclaiming over the rising bread, which had reshaped itself into long, fat (ohgod) pulsing loaves. Arthur just rolled his eyes and grabbed the platter out of his hand after Merlin found himself back in Arthur’s room, no memory of the journey, holding a plate of lettuce (obviously meant as a garnish for something), with a whole fish, an apple, and a candle. Thankfully, the fish was cooked, although, Merlin reflected, so, apparently, was the apple.

Merlin hadn’t come so many times since he was thirteen and first figuring out what his cock was for.

~ ~ ~

The third time Merlin stood just inside Arthur’s room, watched him drop his hose and strip off his tunic, gleaming with sweat after training, biceps (thank you, anatomy book!) flexing as he threw the clothes at Merlin, Merlin frantically fighting the swelling of his magic and his cock, failing at both, and turning to go, bouncing straight off the doorframe and landing, out of breath on the floor in front of Arthur, Merlin again wished for death. 

Quickly, please. Before Arthur noticed how hard he was, beneath his thin summer trousers, splayed out, panting, eyes gold (he knew they were, he just knew).

Arthur paced forward, slowly, until he stood directly over Merlin. Merlin, resolutely, refused to look up.

“Merlin.”

Merlin bit his lip. Why wouldn’t his cock wilt? Why did his magic insist that this was even better than food, better than warmth, curling under his skin, to his fingertips, only stopped from winding across the floor to wrap around Arthur’s ankle by Merlin’s white-knuckled control? 

“Merlin. Look at me.”

Merlin looked up, cheeks flaming. To Arthur, hard beneath his loose pants, similarly white-knuckled.

“I know.”

Merlin, still frozen, still hard, eyes still golden, stared.

“I know,” Arthur repeated. “The magic. Just…come here. We’ll fix it.”

Merlin made an involuntary sound – he didn’t want his magic fixed! – and Arthur, clearly having lost his patience, reached down, grabbed Merlin’s hand, and hauled him up, plastered to Arthur. Kissed him, hard, hot, wet, messy.

“I’m not going to have you executed, you imbecile,” he muttered, in between bites to Merlin’s lip, his throat, “how many damned times do I have to take off my shirt before you notice?”

Merlin, drowned in magic, in want, merely bit back.

~ ~ ~

The fountain, apparently now a permanent fixture in the courtyard, spewed higher several times a day. Arthur just smirked.


End file.
